Destiny's Child
by K Hanna Korossy
Summary: In the Beginning tag: Dean couldn't change his family's destiny, but doesn't mean he didn't change anything.


_Major thanks to Cathy, my on-call-muse  
Dedicated to the one-of-a-kind Bernie Hamilton_

**Destiny's Child**  
K Hanna Korossy

"Shower's free," Sam said as he stepped out into the room in a cloud of steam.

Dean grunted, eyes glued to the laptop screen. "You were in there for like an hour—you putting your hair up in curlers again, princess?"

"There's a lot of me to wash," Sam said defensively, climbing gingerly into his jeans. "You're smaller, man."

Dean watched him out of the corner of his eye, gauging how Sam was moving, the clarity in his eyes. Jack Montgomery—the rugaru, Dean mentally corrected—had done a number on them both, but Sam especially, in more ways than one. Dean's head had ached for days, but Sam's vision and balance had been shot for nearly a week. And that had been the easier part. They were still finding their way back from Sam's lies about his powers, Dean's harsh words after he found out, and the fear that had motivated both. The teasing, lame as it was, felt good, felt like hope. Like them again. "Six-one is only considered small compared to an oversized freak like you, dude," he shot back easily, glancing again at the computer as he tossed out more spam. Some things hadn't stopped even with his death.

"Who says I was talking about your height?"

Dean's head whipped up to see Sam grinning tentatively at him. Dean narrowed his eyes. "Oh, no, tell me you did not just go there. You sure you wanna start that one, brother?"

Sam held up his hands in mock retreat and started going through his bag, clearly chewing on a smile as he looked for a clean shirt.

Dean glared at him a moment longer, then returned to the laptop, his own mouth twitching. Now _that _kind of little-brother stupidity he knew how to handle.

An unfamiliar name on an email caught his eye, and he clicked on it. His frown deepened as he read.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"We know a Lindsey…Rosick?"

Sam rounded the bed to lean over Dean's shoulder, peering at the computer screen. "You're kidding, right? Don't tell me you forgot. She doing okay with that new class?"

"Yeah, I…guess so—and what do you mean I forgot?" He craned back to look at Sam. "You sure she's not some school buddy of yours _you _forgot to introduce?"

Sam dropped his hands to his hips, giving Dean a puzzled smile. "Dude, _you're _the reason I know her. The djinn, the warehouse, girl trapped with you—any of this ringing a bell?"

A shiver ran through Dean, an actual wave of cold. He got up from the chair and backed a step away, skin prickling. "That's not funny, Sam," he growled.

Sam's face folded into honest confusion, concern shadowing his eyes. "Dean—"

"You _know _she wasn't a victim. You know what she almost—" Dean's voice shook, and he clamped his teeth on his lip, turning away from Sam to hide how rattled he was. Was Sam seriously going to lie to him again, and about something so obvious? It didn't make sense, and it _hurt._

"You're not kidding," Sam said slowly. "You— Dean, you really don't know what I'm talking about?"

"Sam—"

"Okay, okay, I just, uh…" Sam shook his head, hands rising a little, then falling back to his side. "All right, so…what do you remember?"

"You already know this story, Sam," he forced out. He didn't want to tell it again, didn't want to think about it.

"Tell me anyway. Please."

The question seemed like an honest one, though. Sam really wanted to hear this. Dean just had no idea why; his brother knew how much she'd hurt Dean, how messed up he'd been afterward. Dean chewed his lip viciously, finally half-turning back to Sam. "Seriously? 'Cause if this is some kind of joke, it isn't funny, dude."

"It's not a joke," Sam said, shaking his head. He settled on the bed across from Dean's vacated chair, leaning forward, posture one of complete attentiveness. "Just…tell me again."

Dean ran a hand through his hair and breathed out. Fine. He could do this. It was old news, anyway. He dropped back into the chair, eyeing Sam a moment longer, but still saw nothing but compassion. "I checked out the genie's lair alone. It got the drop on me, whammied me into my fantasy world where Mom and Jessica weren't dead. Lindsey _Walsh _was my dream girl—we lived together, were practically engaged."

"Wait," Sam interrupted. "Her name was Lindsey? You're sure?"

Dean snorted. "Yeah, I'm pretty friggin' sure, Sam. Not like I'm gonna forget the mind games she played with me."

A line gathered between Sam's brows. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, she was in on it all along. Dude, you know this already!" Dean threw up his hands; seriously, why would _Sam _of all people want to go over this part again?

Sam jumped to his feet, pulling at the corners of his mouth with one hand, eyes distant a moment before they swung back to his brother. "Dean…that's not how it happened. Maybe the djinn played with your head more than we thought, or maybe…" His gaze shied away. "Maybe you…I don't know, got a little mixed up when you…came back." He gave Dean an apologetic look.

His jaw maybe dropped a little. He was pretty sure he managed to get a "What?" out, even if it croaked.

Sam spread his hands. "Look, it's not like I was there, but you told me after that your dream girl was named Carmen. The djinn got her from a magazine ad you'd seen. And Lindsey was trapped in a hallucination just like you were. She kept showing up in your fantasy world—that's what made you start doubting it was real, man." Sam looked at him intently. "I swear to you, I'm not making this up. We found Lindsey strung up in the djinn's warehouse and took her to the hospital. She was okay, got reunited with her family, went back to school. She sends us an email every few months—is any of this familiar at all?"

Dean blinked, staring at him. Seeing nothing but God's honest truth in Sam's face, and wasn't that funny. Because no matter how much Sam had been lying to him lately, Dean believed him completely.

Which left him utterly screwed. Maybe it was Sam whose head had been tampered with but, realistically, which of them was the one who'd just gone through a major life—and death—change here? If Hell had messed with his memories, though, God knew what else Dean was remembering wrong, what else was changed. Everything he believed, everything he counted on, could be unreliable. And that possibility terrified him more than he could say. If he couldn't even trust himself…

Dean turned away, rubbing his hands over his face. "No," he said roughly. "That's not how it…that's not how I remember it." He looked at Sam, offering a silent apology. "Lindsey was one of Azazel's special kids. We figured that's probably what let her get into my head. She'd already been turned, was working for Yellow Eyes just like Weber had been. She, uh…" Dean cleared his throat. "She'd hooked up with the genie, too, or maybe she was just using him, I dunno. But she tried to get me to stay, kept going on about how you—the real you—were better off without me, how the only way I could really have what I wanted was if I stayed there, made things right with the fantasy-you." He pled with a glance for some kind of affirmation. "Almost worked, too."

Sam closed his eyes, and they were shiny when he reopened them. "So why'd you come back?" he asked quietly.

Dean shrugged. "I don't know. Something was off about her—she was pushing too hard. And…I guess I never really believed her. I mean," his mouth stretched humorlessly, "who would be better off without me, right?"

Sam mirrored it painfully. "Yeah," he breathed.

Dean looked down at his hands. "And I promised I'd look after you. Staying there just felt like it was…walking out on that, you know?"

He saw Sam's tight nod, his brother's gaze also turning downward.

He remembered how quiet Sammy had been originally, when he'd found out who Lindsey was. He was already freaked out about what he was destined for, and to find out one of his own had almost seduced Dean to his death…it had been hard for him. Dean wasn't sure he'd ever really gotten over it.

But why would Hell, or his head, or even the djinn make up a lie like that?

"What happened to her?" Sam asked quietly.

Dean looked up, meeting Sam's eyes squarely. "I had to kill her to get out of the djinn's world. It was the only way."

Sam swallowed, nodding again.

"You thought she was trying to separate us, that's why Yellow Eyes sicced her on me. So you'd be alone." Which Sam had ended up being anyway, and yeah, this was just bringing up all kinds of pleasant memories.

Sam's eyes winced shut.

Dean cringed, reaching out to him but letting his hand drop before he touched Sam. It had been pretty bad; he'd been so close to making the wrong choice. But apparently…it had also never happened. Lindsey—the real Lindsey—had been an innocent. She hadn't even had powers. The djinn's twisted fantasy hadn't had anything to do with Sam or Azazel at…all…

Mind reeling, Dean dropped into the chair and started typing.

It took Sam a moment to shake himself and step closer. "What?"

"Just…I don't know, gimme a minute." He scanned a page, clicked on a link, then two more. Then sat back, eyes wide.

"Dean…"

"Lindsey Rosick. She's the daughter of Lyddie and Aaron Rosick. Lyddie _Walsh _Rosick."

"Okay, and…so…?" Sam tilted his head, brow cocked in confusion.

"So, I met Lyddie Walsh, back in 1973." Dean raised his own eyebrow meaningfully at his brother. "Stopped her in the middle of Let's Make a Demonic Deal."

It took a second, then Sam's eyes widened in understanding. "You mean…originally…"

Dean nodded. "Lyddie was dealing for her husband's life—guy was terminal. Without the deal, he probably died, she remarried, had her kid a few years later but no demon blood this time, no destiny crap."

"And then we saved her life from the djinn," Sam breathed. His mouth softened into an almost-smile as he looked at Dean. "Huh."

Dean did him one better, mouth curling up. "Dude, I pull a Marty McFly without the DeLorean, change history so a kid doesn't go evil on us, and all you can say is 'huh'?"

Sam did smile then. "Not bad?" he offered.

Dean groaned. He shook his head as he turned back to the computer and the email page. Lindsey's note was full of school, boyfriend, part-time coffee shop job—he was responsible for that. Maybe he hadn't been able to fix his family's future, but he'd changed somebody's destiny for the better. That meant something. Dean took a breath. "You got a picture of her anywhere?"

Sam reached past him, and with a few keystrokes, there she was. A lot younger and more innocent-looking and fairer in color, but he could see the resemblance to the Lindsey Dean had known.

But she was more than familiar. Just like Sam's story. Dean could sort of remember now, new memories overlaying the old: plunging the knife into his own gut instead of hers to break the illusion, hanging on to her as Sam had driven them to the hospital, going to visit her after, when both of them were doing better. And Carmen, good and innocent and everything he yearned for. Dean wasn't sure how he'd broken away from _that _fantasy, truth be told, except…Sam had still been waiting on this side. That hadn't changed. Nor had Dean's priorities.

"She named a cat after you."

Dean started, looked at Sam. "What?"

Sam was grinning, a hint of actual mischief dancing in his eyes. God, that alone made this whole nightmare worth it. "Lindsey. She named one of her cats 'Dean.'"

Dean grimaced. "Her cat? Dude, you're making that up."

"Dude, I still have the email." Sam was leaning past him again, and as Dean moved back to give him room, he almost missed the softly spoken corollary. "She was one of the few people whose emails I read while you were gone."

And that was something, too. A lot, actually.

Dean pulled in a breath. There was no need to tell Sam that the extent of the original Lindsey's malice had made Dean despair for his brother's fate, that that had been a far greater temptation to stay in the djinn's dream world than any mirages it could conjure for him. Or that knowing now he'd been able to change at least that much gave Dean fresh hope for being able to save his brother if Sam came to a similar crossroads. Destiny couldn't be changed, maybe…but the future could. Dean would have to make that clear to Sam at some point, at least. In some way that wasn't, you know, as ridiculously emo as they'd already been that morning.

He smirked at his brother's profile. "Genie-you still had lousy taste in clothes."

"Shut up, Dean," Sam retorted without missing a beat.

Better and better all the time.

**The End**


End file.
